


you're all fire and brimstone and i'm all that too

by flemeth



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, first some grief and then something light, in which rocks have feelings and are not great at processing them, spoilers for 5.24
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-19 06:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15503862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flemeth/pseuds/flemeth
Summary: The room is kept empty, save for her pearl, who hovers near, crying her mistress’ tears. Save for Her Radiance Yellow Diamond, who has come every day, without fail. Diligently, say the gems of Yellow’s court. Devotedly, say those of Blue.





	you're all fire and brimstone and i'm all that too

  
  
**Y.**

 

> So if you won’t hold me, I have no objections  
>  So if you won’t please me, I make no commands  
>  So if you don’t trust me, it’s best if I drown  
>  — NEPTUNE, Planetarium

  
  
It has been two months. Or perhaps whatever amount of time feels like two months to titans such as diamonds. The skies over Homeworld are black with grief—not that Blue Diamond sees them, not that Blue Diamond stirs from her throne. The room is kept empty, save for her pearl, who hovers near, crying her mistress’ tears. Save for Her Radiance Yellow Diamond, who has come every day, without fail. Diligently, say the gems of Yellow’s court. Devotedly, say those of Blue.

Our Luminous Yellow Diamond; She, the sun-lit conqueror of worlds; Her Radiance of Reason and Might, says her pearl, who is not one to gossip but cannot bear to have misinformation linger is all and, furthermore, believes it only right that all subjects pay their proper respects to their most noble, most loyal leader, Yellow Diamond spends her most precious time marching between White Diamond, impenetrable, and Blue Diamond, inconsolable. If Her Radiance pauses, it is only to approve the necessary requests that come from the other, competent colonies. Or it is to oversee the new expedition to the T-14 quadrant, where nephrites have departed in search of suitable rock for sapphires, as Their Illuminate White Diamond blighted her most coveted colony in a sudden rage.

Yellow Pearl would certainly never impersonate Their Radiance Most Divine, not the high melody of her voice nor the opaque gloss of her stare, but Blue’s court is so attentive, so desperate to know, and Yellow Pearl is a most diligent scribe, a most attentive servant of Her Radiances. What use, Yellow Pearl says and it is most definitely not done in any kind of impersonation whatsoever, are fortune-tellers, Yellow-darling, now? When they have failed us so? No-no. No-no. Were they worth it, my dear, I would pluck each of their eyes out myself. But, of course, they are not worth it. Not worth it at all. They have shown us that much.

So it falls to Yellow Diamond to attend to this new deficit. To attend to her subjects' needs as only the most logical and steadfast of their great Diamond Authority can.

Well, trills the sour-coloured pearl, we cannot all be so fortunate to serve a gem so perfect, so competent, so constant as Her Radiance Yellow. The implication, Blue Diamond’s courtiers and guards all understand to be: that you do not.

They shrug off the pearl’s sneers. They are not rebels; they are loyal to their home, to their purpose, to their diamond, most merciful, and to her grief. They orbit her agony with a zealot’s fervour. Their diamond is perfect in her compassion, selfless in her loss. She feels for each of them; she carries their pain. She, alone, they say in the confidence of their court, understands the depth of this tragedy. But they are polite to Yellow Diamond’s little pearl. They listen, captivated, to her stories of matriarchs supreme. If they are to be denied access to their diamond—as is only fitting, as is only fair—they will survive off of whatever they can find.

What Yellow Pearl does not say is she now entertains them here, outside of Blue’s chambers, because after a period of time resembling a week, Yellow Diamond had thrown the pearls out, frustrated with their uselessness, their inability to cure Blue any more effectively than she. They have not been allowed back in.

While their diamonds are alone, Blue Pearl will pass along any pertinent messages her mistress will not attend to, which is all of them. And afterwards, Yellow Pearl will relay these, in turn, to her diamond. She will record, too, Yellow’s attempts at consoling Blue Diamond. Her Radiance is precise as ever. She has tried a vast variety of tactics and, in her few moments of calm, she will review these past two months tirelessly. What has failed the least, what Blue has responded to even in the smallest of fractions, what else might possibly work.

Yellow Diamond may sit with Blue Diamond in silence. Or, if she is able and Blue is willing, she will take her hand. She will sing to her, and Yellow Pearl will record what songs. Songs from their youth, songs from their wars, and songs Yellow Pearl has never heard before. Those ones Yellow Diamond describes cryptically; there was one she referred to only as a ‘declaration’ (‘Of what, My Diamond?’ asked Yellow Pearl, to which Her Radiance, with an aggravated sigh, said, ‘Of feeling, Pearl—’ ‘—What sort of feeling, My Diamond?’ asked her pearl, who was meticulous and thorough, but Her Radiance had been harsh: ‘Do not pester me, Pearl, with these inane little questions. I know what feelings. Or do you doubt my memory?’ and then dismissed her pearl as she grovelled her apologies). Twice, Yellow has performed a ballad that, centuries ago, was renowned for making Blue Diamond weep from the perfection of its complicated metre and the erudite nature of its rhymes. Only once, a song that Pink Diamond adored in her infancy.

They record whether Blue Diamond remains silent or whether she weeps without ceasing or if she mumbles, endlessly, about this unbearable wound in her chest or memories of Pink and all her games and her charms. Yellow Pearl transcribes each of these affections, but says nothing of them. For one, they seem too intimate to speak. For another, they have all been fruitless. Yellow Diamond tries and tries and tries, but Blue Diamond’s sadness never wavers.

Still, Yellow comes. Diligently, they say. Devoted.

 

 

 

Yellow Diamond draws back the many veils, glimmering with blue scales like long, translucent serpent skins. There was one time when she did this for hours, moving through a labyrinth of drapery with no end. It was a game Blue used to play with Pink. Though what joy it afforded either of them is lost on her. Yellow is simply relieved when she needs only part the curtains once to find Blue, lying in a small flotsam of ornate pillows. It is unbecoming, of course, for a Diamond to lie as Blue does—for days, now, at a time, without moving. They have no need for sleep and so, consequentially, no need to recline. But it is all so unbearable, Blue says, quietly, miserably, chanting it over and over again whether Yellow stays or leaves. To stand is unbearable, to simple be, now, is unthinkable. Nevermind to be a diamond. No, why bother with that at all.

So Yellow kneels by Blue’s side. She feels tears begin to prick her eyes. Yellow waits for Blue to turn, to acknowledge her. It could take some time. There is a weariness to Yellow’s motions, and she loathes it as she would any weakness. She should not feel tired, and yet she does. Enduring White’s wrath, alone, tires her. Pink’s absence, palpable in all that they do, tires her. And this, here, watching Blue submerge herself in grief, it tires her too.

It is simply irresponsible, thinks Yellow, of each of them. Of Blue, to cradle her sadness as though it might replace what they have just lost. Of White, to let her cruelties run unleashed. Of Pink—Of Pink! To mismanage her colony, to be so reckless, to ignore all of their advice, to leave herself to exposed—

It was so irresponsible of her, of Yellow, to give Pink a colony. To indulge her as she did. It was irresponsible and foolish and it was this, her own horrible weakness, that is the cause of all their loss. All this suffering, unparalleled.

Yellow straightens herself, reflexively. It is useless to dwell on how she feels; it won’t bring anything back. Not the resources lost, or Blue’s pretty laugh. Not Pink. She forces herself, instead, to think of what’s in front of her: Blue’s hunched shoulders, her curled spine. Yellow wishes she could place a hand on Blue’s back. Perhaps coax her upright. Perhaps they could stand, and Blue could lean against her, and perhaps she could lean, in turn, against Blue. Perhaps they could hold each other upright.

But Blue has yet to stand. She cannot bear it as she cannot bear own radiant skin. There had been a night where Yellow had held her. They were still for a time, and then Blue had begun to shift. Her edges had begun to dissolve. She had been blue light, boundless, and Yellow had panicked. Was she retreating into her gem? Was she shifting? Would she— Surely she wouldn’t sully her form with something as frivolous and base as transformation. Would she? Yellow had held onto Blue tighter. ‘Don’t,’ she had pleaded, pathetically. ‘Don’t—’ Even this, Yellow had thought, her forehead pressed against Blue’s back, even is almost enough. Please, she had thought. Don’t. Not to me.

‘Yellow,’ Blue whispers. She rolls over slowly. Her eyes are half open; her face shines from her tears. This, too, is unbearable to Yellow. Yellow remains still, waiting. She does not wipe the tears from her eyes. It would be futile. Inefficient.

‘Where are your tears, Yellow?’ Blue speaks drowsily, as though she is waking from a dream.

‘I’m crying right now,’ Yellow says dryly. Another thing that tires her is how she is reduced, constantly, to sobs.

‘My tears,’ and when Blue reaches up to touch her face, Yellow, whether it is out of instinct or starvation, leans into Blue’s touch. Blue presses against the corner of Yellow’s eye. She draws the tear down Yellow’s cheek. ‘You’re crying my tears, Yellow... Where are your own?’

Yellow would like to turn her head. She would like to kiss Blue’s hand. And then, perhaps, her mouth. Please, she wants to say. Enough silly questions. Enough of this grief, without definite shape or limitations. Please, come back to me.

But she is a diamond, not a beggar. She lacks the vocabulary for such requests.

Instead, she is curt. ‘I can only tolerate a limited amount of theatrics, Blue.’

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Blue withdraws, suddenly, sharply, and Yellow is left cold, filled with a flash of anger.

‘Oh, would _that_ make you feel better?’ Yellow hears herself sneer. After all this time, all her songs, all of this waiting—what a foolish thing to want. Who would it help? Who would feel better if Yellow cried her own tears? What would that fix? Why does Blue spend so much time fixating on nothing?

‘It might,’ says Blue. They are being undignified, arguing like this, but it can’t be helped. Blue is being unreasonable. She has been unreasonable for months and still Yellow endured it as she has endured all of Blue’s moods. Yellow has been patient and Yellow has tried. 'If only to know,’ Blue continues in small, hard voice, ‘that I haven’t shared my empire with a callous, heartless—’

‘Fine.’ Yellow has tried so much, and it has all meant nothing. And now that nothingness fills her, overwhelming, suffocating. ‘Fine. You want to see tears? You want me to cry? Go ahead,’ says Yellow. ‘Make me.’

 

 

 

 

When Blue rises, Yellow wants to laugh. She wants to say, So this is how it is. So this is all you care about. She doesn’t, though. She lets Blue push onto her back. She is compliant when Blue straddles her hips, looking down at Yellow, wicked and regal.

Here she is, thinks Yellow. A Blue she knows. Here she is. A Blue she has loved. Thousands of years ago, for the briefest span of time, Blue became bored of her own patience. As a result, she became cruel. She had burned through a small colony with reckless speed. In private, she had touched Yellow with gleeful severity. For the first time in months, Blue wipes the tears from her eyes. For the first time in months, Blue looks at Yellow and seems to see her.

So she is eager when Blue brings her fingers to her lips, commands her suck. She welcomes it: Blue’s teeth against her neck, her punishing mouth. Yellow hand presses against Blue’s neck, holds Blue there. Go ahead, she says with her hands, with her body, which grinds against Blue, shameless, challenging. I dare you. I want you.

Here she is, helpless and prone beneath Blue, desperate for her. Break me, thinks Yellow. Break me. I dare you to. I want you to. Try it. Try to break me as White has taken to breaking her attendants, throwing them against her smooth palace walls, clawing at their poor, obedient faces. White laughs through her violence, delighting in each reassertion of her superiority. Break me, thinks Yellow, as you try to break yourself. As you gather your grief, nurture it. How much of it can you hold? How much before it shatters you?

Try and break me, thinks Yellow, and Blue seems to know. And Blue touches her roughly, cruelly, relentlessly, and it is all a kindness. Try and break me to prove it cannot be done. Try and break me to prove that I won’t, that we won’t, not again. Never again.

She will endure it all. All of Blue’s meanness, all her agony. She will let Blue impress it into her skin. They will move against each other fiercely, desperately. Blue touches her, touches her, touches her—and then stops. Denies her, exhausts her. And Yellow could laugh, that Blue thinks denial is how she will be broken. As though Yellow has not denied herself so much already. As though Yellow is not fluent in its ebbs and flows. As though it is not the only way Yellow knows how to be kind to herself. Her hips rise. She whines; she asks for more. Anything Blue wants, anything Blue will give.

But she will not cry. Yellow bites her lip. She chokes it down. She would give Blue anything, anything, but not this. Not her pride, not her composure, not her reason. Without that, what use is she? Without that, how will they ever survive this? No. Anything, everything, but not that.

It is long and torturous and leaves them gasping, leaves them exhausted and empty. Blue leaves a final bite in the inside of Yellow’s thigh before she rises. She looks down at Yellow once more. Yellow, exhausted but whole. Yellow, with her clear, hard stare. Blue smiles, despairingly, pitying, and then she sinks, in frigid silence, back into her pillows and her veils and her sorrows.

Yellow rolls onto her side. It should be easy to reach out, to take Blue’s hand in her own. To hold it and say, It wouldn’t have made you feel better. It wouldn’t have changed anything. To kiss her hand and say, Thank you. Say, Come back to me now. Wasn’t this enough? Say, Come back. How would you have me do this without you?  
  
She looks small, lying there, curled and crying. Her sobs are so steady, they sound like rain. Yellow swallows those tears, too. She stands. It is unbearable, but she will bear it. There is nothing else to be done. There is nothing else she can give.  
  
‘It’s enough, Blue,’ she says. ‘If you do not hold court tomorrow, I will move to assume regency over your planets.’ She expects Blue to look back, to tell her that all their planets, that every last star in the sky, are meaningless now. And maybe they are, thinks Yellow, but they are still theirs. Blue does not turn. Blue does not say anything. She is miserable, but she is a diamond. She has her dignity.

If she could, Yellow would kiss her, maybe. Yellow would say, I never want to be cruel to you, but I don’t know what else to do. I’m tired. It’s pathetic, but I am.  

She can’t. Her pride won’t allow for it. Instead, she begins to leave. ‘I won’t be returning tomorrow. I have indulged this more than I should have. We still have our duties. Now more than ever.’  
  
Yellow pauses in the doorway. She brings a hand to her cheek. In the dark Blue is weeping, and perhaps Yellow is too.

 

 

 

 

**B.**

 

> And I am steadfast  
>  All that I thought, to be precise  
>  And I am consequence  
>  You ran off with it all  
>  — MERCURY, Planetarium

  
  
A moment alone and a moment of calm, at last. The diamond kneels in her pool of blue skirts, inclining her head upwards to receive the endless expanse of light. For years and years, she has felt submerged. All around her, the world had moved as though weighted with black water. All through her, there had been a heaviness that even she could not convey. Now it lifts. All of her facets sparkle with overwhelming joy, all of her heart bubbles with warm light.

Beyond her, pacing and prowling like any other sleek predator, Yellow scowls into the horizon. Blue laughs quietly behind a hand. There is quite a lot of sky, and Blue wonders if Yellow intends to stare it all down. It would not be the first time.

Besides the heavy footfall, Yellow is silent and Blue wonders, too, what the diamond might be hunting. Some wrong, some weakness—or some joy? She is a taciturn soul; these feelings can all look the same in the hard angles of her eyes. And it has been so long, thinks Blue, since they have been happy. Yellow is a ruler of painstaking habits and careful routines—perhaps she has forgotten how, perhaps it will take some time.

‘I can hardly believe it,’ Blue says, to herself or to Yellow, coming back towards her, should she wish to hear. ‘It’s nothing short of miraculous—that she was still alive, all along. To be given this chance, to be together again…’

‘But will she come? Permanently?’ Yellows sits beside her, tired of glowering at the sky and choosing, instead, to sulk at their feet. ‘She’s Pink, but she’s not Pink. And even should she remember us as we remember her… She cares for that planet. She cares for her _friends_ , all of whom, I need not remind you, are deviants at best and traitors at worst.’  
  
‘Ah,’ says Blue, ‘you are being _logical_.’ She is being right, too, but it’s much more difficult to tease someone for being right. And these are small things, Blue thinks, against all the centuries they have—again, _again_ , so much time again—to negotiate and correct and love once more.

‘I’m being serious,’ says Yellow.  
  
‘I know you are. You always are.’ There have been times when she has said this meanly, but today Blue is adoring. ‘But she’s alive—Yellow, she’s alive—and isn’t that all that matters, really?’

Yellow does not look at her. Yellow does not speak. Carefully, Blue covers Yellow’s hand with her own. Today, for now, Blue wants for so little, as she has so much. She wants only to take away that frown. She thinks she can. If Yellow has forgotten, she can remind her. She can teach her. 

Yellow pulls away.

‘Don’t—‘

‘What?’ Yellow does not often surprise her, but Blue finds her leaning forward, stunned. She puts a hand on Yellow’s shoulder, and their touch crackles, sparks. Yellow jerks away again. ‘Please,’ Yellow mutters, ‘don’t—‘

Blue looks down at her hand. She flexes it, feeling all that pure, unfettered joy, the deep cerulean of this incredible happiness, pulse through her fingertips. She doesn’t understand. ‘Does this—does my happiness hurt you, Yellow?’

The other diamond is silent. She sits up, too rigid, glaring at the sky. Her silence is so sharp, it hurts. ‘Yellow?’

In the long quiet, Blue feels her mind pulled backwards. She remembers another Blue, who had not even heard the word 'Earth.' It would be nice, to be that Blue again. If she closes her eyes, she can see that diamond. Her navy scarves move in familiar winds with the light diffidence of butterfly's wings. She is descending those wide onyx steps to find her beloveds in some pillared courtyard, latticed in all their colours. Carved into the dark floor is a comprehensive star map, and Yellow is there, stomping across the galaxy with Pink on her shoulders. She grinds her heel into a dwarf planet with exaggerated intensity. Pink contributes a symphony of sound effects that Blue assumes are meant to mimic, in turn, lasers, explosions, and the dark magnetism of a black hole.

'Blue! Look!' Calls Pink, waving her arms wildly. 'I'm conquering the Z-12 system!' She throws back her small head, victorious. 'I'm her ship,' Yellow offers in a deadpan. But Blue sees how Yellow's hands cover Pink's ankles, protective; an unnecessary precaution, because this Yellow and this Blue believe nothing is capable of harming her. There is nothing to fear, there is no reason to care, and still Yellow does. Blue sees, too, the tactical maps and galactic skirmishes left to fade in the sun. The lessons on conquest suspended for an indulgent game of it instead.

'Ready, soldier?' asks Yellow and Pink gives a mock salute, 'Ready!' And there is a new flurry of winds as Pink is thrown from Yellow's shoulders, spun in circles by her ankles. Yellow launches her and Pink goes somersaulting through the air, laughing, and into Blue's arms. Blue catches her effortlessly, holds her loosely. She doesn't know any better. Pink presses a hand over Blue's gem. 'Got you,' she smirks. 'You've just been conquered.' And she beams with the force of a thousand stars, turning back to Yellow for approval.

‘I’m not jealous,’ Yellow finally says, and there is no courtyard, no war games. There's only the two of them, a hand's width apart. ‘I’m not. And I want you to be happy. I just…’

Blue stays very still. She watches Yellow carefully, her slight squint, the way her mouth goes thin as she tries to find the right words. An unconveyable weight, and Blue understands that Yellow is trying to find a way to speak it kindly. She will say it petulantly, Blue thinks, or if not childishly, then cruelly. If not cruelly, then coldly. She will say it and it will sting, but Blue will forgive her. She is resolved to her task.   
  
‘I just wish I had been enough,’ Yellow says, finally, and it is not mean or indifferent or petty. Yellow’s words are small and sharp and if they sting, they sting Yellow most of all. Blue watches her wince, now, hateful of her own vulnerability. Oh, thinks Blue. Oh, Yellow.  
  
There are places on her body that have come to expect Yellow’s touch. Her shoulders, her arms, her back, all anchored, all held upright when she would rather give way and fall. Across all of time and space, Blue feels it as certainly and as deeply as she feels all things: Yellow’s hand, reaching out for hers. Sometimes, she feels Yellow’s touch before she realizes herself to be unsteady. 

And so it by this tether, by whatever power has pulled their hearts together, arranged them in the same constellation and threaded them by the bright solar strings of custom and belief, by whatever instinct Yellow that knows when Blue needs to be righted, that Blue understands, too, what Yellow needs from her now.

Blue holds out her hand, and waits until Yellow complies. She is embarrassed, and so she will relent. There's a part of Yellow that would rather continue to pace and sulk and prowl, but Blue will quiet that piece of her. This is what Yellow needs. Blue strokes Yellow’s cheek: here, a thumb over that stubborn frown; here, the lines about her eyes, which flit away now, bashful. Under Blue’s touch, Yellow’s edges are made smooth, if only for a time, if only in Blue’s eyes. Yellow’s gentle stare, her sullen mouth, Blue gathers it all to her, lowers her bitter commander’s face into her lap. Yellow, her dear Yellow, full of pride, full of pain, presses a scowl into Blue’s thigh, but it is almost perfunctory; she has no further complaints.

Blue runs her hand through Yellow’s hair, and perhaps they stay like this for some time, with Blue’s hand tracing the back of Yellow’s head over and over again. Blue performs a small miracle of her own. Here, the tide of her hands. Here, a single feeling to focus on, here, a single, simple feeling. It’s permission: permission for Yellow to rest, permission for her to bend. Let me, says Blue’s steady heart, let me. I will carry this, I will hold this, I will hold you.

Let us be silent for now. Let us just be.

 

 

 

‘You did your best,’ Blue whispers. ‘You helped keep me together as much as you could.’ For a moment her hands still, and Yellow remains still beneath them. A diamond is thanked; she does not thank. Even so, Blue means this to sound like gratitude.

‘...I am... I’m glad it was you. Who tried.’ She thinks of Yellow, kneeling, patient at her side. She thinks of Yellow’s voice, singing songs that did not reach her until centuries had passed. She thinks of White Diamond, vicious in her wisdom, grinding the shards of her attendants into a kaleidoscope of dust. ‘White would’ve let me...’ Become something different. Become as difficult and wild and tempestuous as she. ‘White wouldn’t have cared...’

Yellow snorts. ‘I don’t think she knows how.’

Blue would never say it herself, Blue would never dare, but it’s probably true.

‘Why do you think we do? Care?’

Yellow raises her head. She folds her arms over Blue’s knees. ‘Because she was—’ Yellow catches herself and looks at Blue and Blue feels it too, that thrill, to be wrong, to have been so wrong, ‘Because she is ours. In a way she isn’t White’s.’

‘Or maybe,’ Yellow continues, playing at confident but looking away once more. ‘Or maybe just because of you. I didn’t care, like this, before you.’ Blue smiles softly. She cups Yellow’s jaw and Yellow turns so slightly, kisses the inside of her palm.

‘She cares more than I do. All those corrupted gems, and her terrible delusional friends, and her horrible planet... I wonder... ought we to care more too? Is it inevitable?’ As we were inevitable, thinks Blue. As she was inevitable. As she changed us then, will she change us now?

‘Blue, please.’ Yellow rolls her eyes. It’s a bit less effective, a more endearing, Blue thinks, with Yellow’s face still held in her hand. ‘Let’s not be completely ridiculous. I think I care about quite enough already.’

‘Oh? And what do you care about, My Diamond?’ A teasing smile greeted by a serious frown: ‘The longevity of our empire,’ says Yellow, ‘the sustainability of our subjects, Pink...’

‘Is that all?’

‘And you. But you know that. It hardly needs to be said.’

‘I suppose I do,’ hums Blue. She turns Yellow’s face, flushed, back towards hers. ‘Just as you know...’

Maybe Yellow is right. Maybe it doesn’t need to be said. Words seem so inadequate, anyway, when compared to Yellow’s wide eyes, to the comfort of their bodies against each other. Blue leans down and, tethered, Yellow rises so that Blue’s lips come to rest on her forehead. It’s such a little touch, and yet it ripples through them both, like electricity, like drowning. Like they are subject, all at once, to a gravity all their own. Blue feels the edges of herself cease to be as she draws Yellow into her, as Yellow draws her in, as their bodies sing that most perfect, most secret song. It’s a feeling that overwhelms, a burning too beautiful for Blue to ever hold alone.  
  
‘We can’t,’ murmurs Yellow, and they are two again.

‘I know, I know... I just wanted to see it again. Our colour.’

She closes her eyes and lets it consume her. A colour unseen anywhere else in their heavens or beyond. A world of green. More brilliant than the wreath of a nebula, burning. More radiant than all their emeralds, more lush than any planet. There are no words for it, either, just that feeling. Just that feeling that has kept her upright for centuries: Yellow’s hand, devoted to hers.  
  
Blue opens her eyes, sighing.

‘Yellow, are those tears?’

‘Certainly not.’

Blue Diamond presses her lips to Yellow’s face. She kisses them away.

‘No,’ she smiles. ‘Of course not.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> well. this is what it is, but mostly i wanted to exorcise myself of the other few scenes i had lingering in my mind for these two. 
> 
> the title is from [this wolf parade song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qgG5jz9jD8o), which is maybe not diamond-esque in sound, but has a compatible spirit. epigraphs are from [the sufjan & co album](http://planetariumalbum.com/), which will change your life. and, if you'd like, you can catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/alchemicals).


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